


The Past is a Splash of Color

by Pixial



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Minor Angst, injury mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 16:56:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7114450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixial/pseuds/Pixial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories are important. Painful, but important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Past is a Splash of Color

**Author's Note:**

> Something of a vent piece.

Camera phones were handy things. A few seconds, a click, and there was a snapshot of memory preserved for as long as the memory card was intact. And if someone was sneaky enough, sometimes more than a snapshot could be grabbed.

Tord prided himself on being that someone.

There were hundreds of smiles (and irritated glares) captured in the little card he carried with him wherever he went. Videos of just little everyday moments that he looked at when the world became too grey, and he found his way clouded.

_“Hey, Matt, smile for the camera!”_

_“Well naturally! Do you want a regular or my special deluxe?”_

_“Uhhh... You choose.”_

There’d been about five minutes of Matt trying to figure out just how he wanted to smile for the camera. Tord didn’t mind.

_“Get that thing out of my face, you bastard!”_

_“Aww, c’mon Tom! Play a song!”_

_“Tord, I swear…”_

_“I’m not leaving until you do.”_

_“Tord…”_

_“What’s wrong, Jehovah’s Witness? Camera shy?”_

That video had ended with Tom charging for the phone. Tord didn’t get the song, but he did get to piss Tom off. It was worth the bruise he’d gotten from running into the wall.

_“Edd! What are you working on?”_

_“I’m thinking about starting a comic. It’s about superheroes!”_

_“... Super Edd, huh? I bet it’s a good read! Consider me your first fan!”_

_“Really? Well here! Take a signed original!”_

Tord still had the half-finished sketch carefully folded in his billfold.

On and on, the videos and pictures went, carefully tucked away on a chip that was barely the size of his thumbnail. Three phones later, they were his safeguard against the shadows that dogged his footsteps. When he was miles away, sweating to death in a jungle or a dusty barracks, that chip was his home, reminding him that the world was entirely violent and black.

Even now, he kept a hold to it, with a destroyed face, missing arm, and every bridge burned behind him. He should just throw the thing off the roof, watch it fall into the dirty river that passed the base. It was more painful than comforting, an ache in his heart that would never heal. It made sense to get rid of it. But he couldn’t. He’d get his arm ready to swing and freeze.

He couldn’t lose it, not the last vestige of color he had left in his life.

It was, after all, everything he was fighting for.


End file.
